


Pretty in Pink

by Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Genderqueer Character, Hate Sex, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 15:03:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when the only person who accepts your secrets is the one person you can’t stand?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty in Pink

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a gift fic for Mab.

Harry discovers Draco’s secret completely by accident.

Their eyes meet across a crowded bar, filled with Muggles dancing to music Harry doesn’t recognise.

Harry swallows and lets his gaze slide over Draco, taking in every detail of his outfit. The dress is well-tailored and the heels and stockings emphasise the curve of Draco’s slim legs. Harry meets Draco’s eyes and drinks in the high cheekbones and startled stare, accentuated by subtle makeup. He looks so different Harry almost doesn’t recognise him, but when Draco’s upper lip curls into a sneer and his eyes flash with heat and anger, he is unmistakeably _Malfoy_.

Unsure how best to respond, Harry tips his drink in Draco’s general direction. A cry goes up from the crowd as the music shifts to something more boisterous and a drunken reveller barges into Harry, sloshing his pint over them both.

“Watch it, mate.” The bloke claps Harry on the shoulder and leers. “Drink for your troubles?”

“No thanks. Really, I’m fine.”

Harry tries to push his way through the crowds, but by the time he gets to the door, Draco is nowhere to be seen.

When Harry returns to the same bar later that week, Draco’s already there. He’s dressed in a sharp suit and looks like a Muggle City trader, decked out in expensive pin-stripes and thick cotton. He sits stiffly at the bar as though he’s not completely comfortable in his own skin, rolling his eyes when Harry approaches.

“So you didn’t just stumble in here by accident last week.”

“Nope.” Harry takes a menu offered to him by the barman and peruses the long list of cocktails and shots. “I know exactly where I am, but thanks for the concern. You look different tonight.”

Draco ignores Harry’s comment. “Why are you here if you only fuck women?”

“Because I _don’t_ only fuck women.” Harry orders something which sounds utterly filthy, and knocks back the toxic shot in one go. “Good to see you too, by the way. Decent of you to ask how I am.”

“I suppose you think this is funny?” Draco narrows his eyes and orders two more shots, shoving one in Harry’s direction. “You probably want me to convince you to keep quiet.”

“I probably want you to _what_?” Harry laughs. “Do you think I came here for a blowjob in the loo or something?”

“Didn’t you?” Draco continues to look suspicious.

“I’m not one for blackmail.” Harry rolls his eyes at the suggestion, refusing to acknowledge the warm pleasure which arises from the thought of Malfoy on his knees. “I don’t need to resort to bribery as a general rule. I like my partners willing.”

“Yet you don’t tell the _Prophet_ about coming to places like _this_ ,” Draco mutters.

“I don’t really want the press to know my business.” Harry frowns. “I’m not ashamed, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Bully for you, Potter.”

“Are you?” Harry waits for an answer but for the second time that evening, Draco ignores the question.

They end up half-pissed on brightly coloured cocktails and sniping at one another over their drinks.

“I’m surprised to see you somewhere Muggle.” Harry sits heavily on some seats just to the edge of the dance floor. The leather is ripped and the foam filling spills out over the torn edges.

“I’m not exactly out and proud, Potter. The _Prophet_ would have a field day. Being somewhere Muggle is easier. Less complicated.” Draco snorts and takes a sip of his drink, eyeing Harry. “What’s your excuse?”

“The same as you, I suppose.” Harry shrugs because he’s not quite sure what brings him to places like this on such a regular basis. “Anonymity.”

“I can imagine everybody in our world would want a piece of the Boy Who Lived.” Draco smirks.

“What about the other stuff?” Harry gestures at Draco’s outfit. He ditched the jacket a while ago and his shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, his tie loose and crooked.

“Let’s not talk about that. Drink?” Draco flushes and Harry nods.

“Why not?”

“Why are you _everywhere_?” Draco shifts in his seat when Harry sits opposite him in the Leaky Cauldron late one Thursday night.

“I’m not following you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Harry nods to George and Lavender locked in an embrace at the bar. “My drinking buddy found a better offer. I saw you sitting over here by yourself and thought I should say hello.”

“One night in a Muggle bar together doesn’t make us friends.” Draco looks around as if he’s worried the mere fact of talking to Harry might give away his secrets. He leans forward, almost spitting out his words. “If you tell _anyone_ …”

“That you like blokes?” Harry studies Draco carefully. “Or that you like to wear dresses and makeup from time to time?”

“Shut up,” Draco hisses. He looks around and leans forward, keeping his voice low. “I never told you I was gay. You just assumed.”

Harry blinks. “You practically offered to suck me off to pay for my silence. I thought you might at least have a passing interest in men.”

“Well I don’t.” Draco folds his arms and glares at Harry.

“Liar.” Harry shrugs. “Doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Not to you, maybe.” Draco grimaces and looks away, lost in thought.

“Did you like it?” Draco’s lips are lightly stained from his red wine and Harry resists the urge to reach out and brush his thumb over them, visions of Draco in fitted skirts and thick lipstick filling his mind.

“Like what?” Harry pulls his eyes up from Draco’s lips and meets his gaze.

Draco keeps his eyes trained on Harry. “The way I was dressed the other night.”

Harry swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “Yes.”

“Of course you did.” Draco groans and drops his head into his hands. “Damn you, Potter. Why do you have to be so fucking peculiar?”

“Am I?” Harry can’t help but laugh and the tension between them dissipates. “You looked good.”

“Better like that?” Draco lifts his head and contemplates Harry.

Harry takes in Draco’s slim figure clad in a green jumper and dark wool trousers and shakes his head. “Nope. It all looks pretty good from where I’m sitting.”

Draco frowns. “You must be pissed if you think that.”

“Not really, no.” Harry isn’t sure that’s entirely truthful but he’s definitely not Ron Weasley at a Quidditch match pissed. “Are you?”

Draco laughs but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I hope so.”

They fuck that night in an alleyway deep in the heart of Knockturn.

“Happy now?” Draco pushes Harry back against a stone wall, damp with rain and slick with moss. He grinds against Harry and kisses him with an angry huff of resignation. “You were right.”

“About what?” The kiss leaves Harry dizzy and he pulls back to look at Draco.

“I’m _gay_ for fuck’s sake.” Draco looks surprised as he says it, almost as if it’s the first time he’s heard it out loud. His eyes flicker in the darkness and he watches Harry, his voice low and uncertain. “Why can I tell you these things?”

“Because none of it matters to me.” Harry pulls Draco against him, kissing him again. Every movement of Draco’s body against his own sends sparks of pleasure through him and he’s quite sure nobody has ever felt quite so _good_ in his arms.

He pushes Draco back and turns him to face the wall. He unbuckles Draco’s trousers and pushes his hand inside to grip Draco’s cock, groaning at the unmistakable feeling of satin against his skin. “Filthy bastard.”

“I’m not a pervert, Potter.”

“I know.” Harry kisses Draco soundly by way of reassurance, tugging his head back to capture Draco’s lips as best he can. He works Draco’s trousers down over his hips and takes in the sight of Draco’s backside shaped by lace and green, silky knickers. “It’s not perverted. It’s bloody sexy.”

“Stop talking, and get on with it.”

“If you insist.” Harry sucks at a spot on Draco’s neck and squeezes his backside roughly. His kisses elicit just the right reaction and Harry smiles against Draco’s neck, listening to the hitch and shift of Draco’s breath. His skin smells of cologne mixed with a delicate floral scent that lingers around the collar of his jumper. Perfume, Harry realises.

“If you’ve quite finished.” Draco bites out his words and Harry hooks his thumbs in Draco’s knickers, sliding them down slowly. He parts the cheeks of Draco’s backside with one hand, and works to unbuckle his own trousers with the other. Draco shivers under Harry’s touch and presses back towards him.

Harry murmurs a spell and slicks his cock, rubbing the head against Draco’s hole. He looks down at Draco’s trousers and the silky knickers bunched around his ankles and nearly comes on the spot. With a low groan, he presses into Draco in a swift movement and the motion causes them both to cry out.

Harry grips Draco’s hips and urges him to move, taking in the way Draco’s back arches and his buttocks clench and flex. He watches the length of his cock move in and out of Draco – slick with lubricant. Draco presses his palms flat against the wall, bending at the waist and rocking onto Harry, his breathing coming in ragged huffs and grunts.

When Harry nears completion, he wraps his hand around Draco’s cock and strokes it quickly. Draco meets each one of Harry’s thrusts and comes hard between them with a shout, clenching down around Harry and pulling his orgasm from him. Harry pushes hard into Draco one final time, riding out his pleasure. When their breathing settles, Harry pulls out of Draco slowly and buckles his trousers.

“That was unexpected.”

“Was it?” Draco looks amused and fastens his belt.

“Do you always wear them?” Harry can’t resist asking the question, as he trails his fingers over the waistband of Draco’s trousers.

“From time to time.” Draco’s smile falters and he gives Harry a curt nod. “See you around, Potter.”

“Stay and have another drink.” Harry catches Draco’s arm. “Or come back home with me. Don’t just run off.”

“You don’t understand any of this.” Draco gestures to his crotch where his knickers are now well hidden. “It’s all just kinky fun for you, isn’t it? Men, women, what’s the difference? It’s another _experience_ to add to your memoirs.”

“That’s not fair.” Harry shakes his head, anger welling within him. “You don’t know a damn thing about me if you think I’m cruising Muggle bars for material for a _book_.”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway.” Draco looks defeated and straightens the collar of his jumper. “This can’t happen again.”

Harry itches to reach out for Draco but now there’s an invisible wall between them. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks up at the sky. “I might not understand why you dress – I don’t know much about it – but I’d like to.” He looks back at Draco. “I like you.”

“Why do you have to make everything so complicated, Potter?” Draco sighs. “Perhaps I will be able to tell you. One day.”

“But not tonight?” When Harry reaches for Draco this time he comes willingly and leans back in Harry’s arms.

“Not tonight.”

“How did you find me?” Draco’s eyes widen as he takes in Harry standing at the doorway. He steps out onto the road and closes the door behind him. “You can’t be here.”

“I thought you wanted to talk?” Harry frowns. “Isn’t that what we agreed?”

“One day, I said. Maybe. You can’t just come to somebody’s home and expect them to be ready to talk about something they don’t understand themselves.”

“I want it to be more than fucking. I hoped you did too.” A chill settles over Harry when Draco shushes him.

“Will you bloody well be _quiet_?”

“Why?” Harry’s mouth dries and he peers behind Draco. “What are you hiding?”

“What on earth are you doing outside, darling?” The door opens and a woman – one of the Greengrass sisters, Harry remembers – looks across at Draco clearly waiting for a response. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“As if he needs any introduction,” Draco mutters. “Potter, this is Astoria Greengrass.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Harry offers his hand to Astoria who shakes it firmly. A rush of hot anger overwhelms him and he tries to swallow it back. He wants to ask if Greengrass knows any of Draco’s secrets and how the fuck Draco thought he could get away with living a lie, but he doesn’t. Instead he mutters something about a Ministry event which he hopes sounds suitably convincing.

“Potter wanted to ask me to do some consultancy work for the Ministry.”

“Won’t that take up a lot of time?” Astoria looks uncertain. “You’re already away enough on business as it is.”

“I can rearrange my plans. Travel on Thursday evenings as usual and work for the Ministry on Wednesday afternoon.” Draco’s eyes meet Harry’s and Harry understands exactly what he’s saying. He’s giving Harry an opportunity to have some time – on Draco’s terms – before he goes home to Astoria.

“I’m not sure that’s going to work.” Harry can hardly speak. “I think the _Ministry_ might have been looking for a bit more dedication to the role.”

“A pity.” Draco’s smile falters and Harry turns on his heel, eager to get away from Draco as quickly as possible. “See you around, Potter.”

Harry doesn’t respond.

Harry isn’t sure why he returns to the same Muggle bar next Thursday. He supposes it must be morbid curiosity and a need for answers. He half expects Draco not to show up, so when he hears Draco’s familiar drawl it takes him by surprise.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

“Weren’t you?” Harry turns and sucks in a sharp breath.

Draco’s dressed again, just as he was the first night. His dress is shorter than before and his makeup is thick and dark as opposed to subtle. He cocks his head to the side and appraises Harry, his lips tugging into a small smile as if to say _Fuck you_.

“This is what you wanted to see, isn’t it?”

Harry resists the urge to pull his wand on Draco. “I don’t want to see any of it, not anymore. Not unless your circumstances have changed.” Harry hates himself because it’s not true. The sight of Draco makes his heartbeat quicken.

“They’re not going to change. I’m getting married.” Draco says it like he’s telling Harry about the weather and waves his hand dismissively. “This is an outlet.”

“An _outlet_?” Harry’s fury overwhelms him and he clenches his hands into tightly balled fists to stop himself punching Malfoy squarely in the face. “And you didn’t think to mention your soon-to-be- _wife_ the other night?”

“I didn’t think you’d care.” Draco’s cheeks heat. “I assumed you just wanted a bit of fun.”

“Not really.” Harry looks away from Draco. “Does she know?”

“Of course not.” Draco sounds horrified. “And she can never find out. My parents would disown me if they found out my preferences and the dressing…is not something anyone can ever know about.”

Harry looks up, finally. “It’s no sort of life, pretending to be something you’re not.”

“I’m not sure there’s too many people that would accept who I _am_.”

Harry keeps his gaze steady, and swallows back another wave of anger and frustration. “Perhaps you haven’t been looking in the right places?”

“I can hardly expect someone to accept me when I don’t even accept myself.” Draco gestures for a drink and arches an eyebrow at Harry. “Drink?”

“Fine.” Harry pushes his empty glass away and sits next to Draco in silence, his mind full of thoughts he can’t process when the music is too loud and the scent of Draco consumes his senses.

Harry thinks he can resist, and for a long time, he does. He continues to go back to the same bar where he always finds Draco waiting in the same spot, ordering the same drinks. Harry wonders if he should just stop going altogether but every Thursday he finds himself stepping inside and trying to ignore his quickening heartbeat quickening and clammy palms. He supposes it’s not quite resistance, but it’s abstinence of a sort.

Draco always dresses now. Gone are the crisp Muggle suits and the pretence of being someone else entirely. He attracts a lot of attention when he’s fully made-up and he seems more liberated than usual. The stiff Malfoy outward persona disappears, and Draco’s movements become more fluid and easy. His smile brightens from a sneer to a genuine, heart-stopping grin and when he dances it’s like he’s lost in another world where nothing else matters.

On some nights they come too close together for Harry’s liking and he ends up leaving with a faceless stranger that he fucks against the wall outside, closing his eyes and thinking of Malfoy. When Harry finds his strangers, Draco always watches him leave with a strange look on his face. The implacable countenance returns and his scarlet red lips shape into a tight line. Harry wonders sometimes if Draco follows him when he pulls. On some occasions the thought is just enough to pull his orgasm from him, his body aching with desire.

The summer passes and the nights come earlier than before and suddenly Harry can’t resist anymore. He’s not sure what causes his change of heart but he thinks it might have something to do with the burly Muggle pinning Draco against the wall.

Draco’s eyes meet Harry’s and it’s _two can play at that game_. An unexpected rage overwhelms Harry and he pulls the Muggle back with a growl of annoyance.

“Leave him.”

The man grins at Harry, his voice thick from too much booze and his breath sour. “Maybe you’ll let me share?”

“Hardly.”

“Shame.” The man leans close to Draco and mutters “ _Prick tease_ ,” before leaving them to it with a snort of derision.

“Is that what you’re looking for?” Harry forces his words out through his anger and grips his hand on Draco’s hip, pressing close. “Someone to throw you around a bit and call you names?”

“Not really.” Draco’s eyes widen and he pulls Harry close against his body, murmuring against his neck. “ _Harry_.”

“Then tell me. Tell me what you want?”

“To feel different. Feminine. _Pretty_.” Draco gasps the words against Harry’s neck as though they pain him to say out loud.

“Well you’re not going to be made to feel _pretty_ if you go after pricks like that.” Harry snorts and fists his hand in Draco’s hair. He pulls him close into a fierce kiss, losing himself in Draco once again and after months of resistance kissing Draco feels like coming home. He runs his hands over Draco’s body and luxuriates in the feeling of the tight dress clinging to Draco’s every line and curve.

Draco pulls Harry into the men’s bathrooms and drops to his knees, pulling at Harry’s trousers and pushing him back against the tiles. Harry rubs his thumb across Draco’s lips and smears garish pink lipstick along his cheeks in the process.

Draco meets Harry’s gaze, his lips plump and slick with saliva. He gives Harry a _look_ \- the sort which Harry knows to mean _I hate that it’s you that sees me like this_ before he presses his mouth over Harry’s cock.

With a groan, Harry pushes deep into Draco’s throat and cries out when Draco swallows around his length. He pushes himself deeper still and closes his eyes, dropping his head back against the cool wall.

His senses fill with Draco – the floral scent of perfume and the underlying musky scent of arousal and sweat. The material of Draco’s skirt brushes against his calves as Draco moves closer and Harry tangles his hands in Draco’s hair, pulling him down over his cock and holding him in place until Draco chokes and pushes back against Harry’s hands.

When he climaxes, Harry pulls back just enough to catch Draco in the face. He watches his own come slide along Draco’s rouged cheeks and Harry’s prick softens as Draco spits on the floor and wipes his cheek angrily with the back of his hand. Draco’s usually styled hair is rumpled, and his eyes are lined with thick black pencil which contrasts harshly with his pale skin.

He’s a mess.

A beautiful fucking mess.

The familiar look of pride and anger floods Draco’s face and he hauls himself up so he and Harry are eye to eye, nose to nose. Harry buckles his trousers and meets Draco’s gaze.

“Fuck you.” Draco spits out the words and wipes his mouth again, staring at the smear of pink on the back of his hand. “You’re just as bad as the rest of them.”

“Tell yourself that.” Harry’s anger returns and he watches Draco trying to sort out his makeup. “Tell yourself I’m an arse who only wants you for sex if it makes you feel better about your life.”

“You do.” Draco’s voice wavers and he looks at Harry in the mirror. “This proves it.”

“This proves _nothing_.” Harry’s voice rises and he slams his fist hard against the tiles, making Draco jump. “You’re an idiot, Malfoy. You have to pretend I only want one thing because if you allow yourself to think differently even for a single moment, you’ll have to admit you could have everything you want.”

“You think _you’re_ everything I want?” Draco lets out a derisory snort and Harry folds his arms.

“I think I’m the closest thing you’ve found.”

“You’re an arrogant shit, Potter.”

“Then tell me I’m wrong!”

Draco wipes his lipstick from his mouth with toilet paper and splashes water on his face. When he looks up his mascara and eyeliner begin to run in small rivulets down his cheeks.

“I want to go home.” Draco’s voice is thin and defeated.

“Back to Astoria?” Harry’s heart sinks and Draco clutches the sink with his hands.

“Not yet. Not tonight.”

Harry pulls Draco close and slides his hand into his hair, smoothing it and brushing the smears of makeup off his cheeks. “Back to mine, then?”

“For now.”

A surge of hope warms Harry’s body and he holds Draco close to his chest.

“And afterwards?”

“Don’t push your luck, Potter.”

Harry grins, the mood lightening between them.

“Home then.”

“Yes.” Draco brushes his lips against Harry’s neck and pulls him closer. “Home.”

_~Fin~_


End file.
